


the heart yearns

by holy_milk



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Crack, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Pairings to be added, Teen Crush, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22211113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_milk/pseuds/holy_milk
Summary: You're not a Finwean if you have never had a crush on one of your elder relatives.
Relationships: Angrod | Angaráto/Celegorm | Turcafinwë, Curufin | Curufinwë/Findis, Fingolfin | Ñolofinwë/Nerdanel, Fëanor | Curufinwë/Finrod Felagund | Findaráto
Comments: 38
Kudos: 53





	1. Fingolfin/Nerdanel: a postponed wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post](https://venwe.tumblr.com/post/190192130510). I don't know yet how many of them I'll write but I have ideas for some more, so stay tuned.

“What do you think of Fëanáro marrying?” he asked one day as he sat on the ground in the garden with his head in his mother’s lap as she was sorting out the seeds she was planning to plant that day, picking out bad ones.

He heard her sigh.

“Nerdanel is a lovely girl,” she said, “but I don’t feel so good about their marriage. They’re both so terribly young.”

Nolofinwë stared off into space, thoughtful.

“Father says a young love is the true love.”

Indis took her time to reply, although the movement of her hands never stopped or slowed.

“So is a mature love that has had time to grow and strengthen,” she stroked his hair gently. “You see, Aryo, sometimes young people _think_ that they’re in love while it’s… something else that their heart desires.”

Nolofinwë didn't understand what his mother meant by ‘something else’, but his heart started beating faster once he saw an opportunity in her words.

“If you think that’s the case,” he began carefully, turning his head to look up at her, “why not tell them to postpone the wedding?”

Indis laughed with surprise.

“Oh dear,” she said and shook her head ruefully, “you know your half-brother will rather do the opposite just to spite me, even if he knows he’s being senseless. And as for Nerdanel, well, I'm not even her _step_ -mother.”

He thought about it for a moment.

“Fëanáro would listen to Father,” he said. “And Father wouldn’t dismiss you so foolishly. Perhaps you should talk to him?”

Her hand came to rest on the top of his head as she pondered on it.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she said at last. “I’m not sure anything will come out of it, but it won’t hurt to try.”

She resumed her task, and Nolofinwë watched her in a satisfied silence.

He knew his Father would be sensible enough to listen to his wife’s worries, and he knew Fëanáro would never go against Father’s will. And if the wedding could be postponed long enough, then perhaps, with time, Nerdanel would realize that there are much better choices in the world than his self-absorbed, arrogant, insufferable half-brother.


	2. Angrod/Celegorm: taking the blow

The last thing he saw before the world went dark was Carnistir’s face, red as a tomato and distorted with rage.

He surfaced back to consciousness after what felt like mere seconds to find himself lying sprawled on the ground. A moment later he was blinded by the onslaught of light and deafened by a voice yelling somewhere above his head.

“What were you _thinking_ , you idiot?! Can’t I leave you alone for _five damned minutes_ without you killing anyone?!”

He heard Carnistir’s muffled muttering—he could not make out the words—and smirked internally. What came out, however, was a soft, strangled moan.

Immediately, there were strong, warm hands on his shoulders that helped him sit up.

“Are you okay?” Tyelko’s face was blurry when it appeared before his eyes. He blinked once, twice, and the features became sharper. Tyelko looked pale and dismayed.

“Y-yes,” Angaráto swayed as he tried to stand up, nearly falling over Tyelkormo who held out his arm to catch him and shook his head in frustration.

“You’re not okay,” he said quietly, putting an arm around Angaráto’s waist. His hair, brushing against Angaráto’s cheek and shoulder, smelled faintly of hibiscus. “Here, lean against me. I’ll walk you to our house, it’s closer than yours. You,” he raised his voice, looking at Carnistir over his shoulder, “fetch a healer and then go to your room. You’re grounded.”

Carnistir looked as if he was about to explode.

“He started it!” he yelled, pointing madly at Angaráto.

“Don’t be _ridiculous_ ,” Tyelkormo snapped as he carefully helped Angaráto rise to his feet. “He’s ten years younger than you!”

Tyelkormo whispered words of comfort into his ear as they walked, and it took all of Angaráto’s will not to grin. His cousin’s body was lean and muscular, ripe with the untamed vigor of youth, and it made him dizzy the way Carnistir’s heavy blow never could.

He might have underestimated Carnistir’s strength when he had decided to pick up a fight, but he found out he didn't mind it at all.


	3. Finrod/Fëanor: the brightest of students

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, Finrod doesn't make an appearance in this one.

Nerdanel had seen her husbands in a whole lot of different moods throughout the years, but it was the first time she'd seen him staring blankly into space with a lost expression on his face. She sighed and sat down beside him, laying a light hand on his shoulder.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” he started at her touch, as if pulled from a deep thought.

“I don’t know what to do with that Arafinwion boy,” he said, and there was something uncannily close to plea in his voice.

Despite Fëanáro’s stubborn refusal to acknowledge that his numerous nephews (and a niece) had names of their own, Nerdanel understood right away who he was talking about. But she couldn't imagine what could have possibly been wrong with young Findaráto—he was the sweetest, the brightest and the politest boy she’d ever had the pleasure of knowing, so unlike their own or Nolofinwë’s feral children.

“What’s wrong with him?” she asked, baffled, and Fëanáro threw his hands in the air.

“Exactly!” he cried, frustrated, and rushed to explain as Nerdanel quirked an eyebrow at him, “He’s the most diligent student I’ve ever had. He never misses classes, he always comes fully prepared and he never fails to answer any of my questions, no matter how tricky they are. And the paper he turned in last week—it’s the most elaborate, coherent piece of writing I have ever seen a boy his age produce.”

Nerdanel blinked.

“That… doesn’t sound bad,” she pointed out uncertainly. “Aren’t you always complaining about the kind of young people you have to teach nowadays? You should be happy to finally have a student you’ve longed for all these years!”

Fëanáro gave her a disappointed look.

“You don’t understand,” he said weakly and shook his head. “He asked me to tutor him individually—the way I do our children—when he first came here, and I said I would only do that if he proved he’s worthy of my extra time and attention. I didn’t think it would come to this!”

Nerdanel let out a heavy sigh, massaging her temples. As much as she loved her husband, there were times when she really felt like smacking him on the head.

“I still don’t see how that’s a problem,” she said. “If you’re worried you can’t take on more individual tutoring, pair him up with Moryo. They’re pretty much of the same age, and if Findaráto is as bright as you say, he’ll have no problem keeping up with—”

“Time isn’t a problem,” Fëanáro interrupted hastily. Suddenly, he looked uncomfortable. “That boy… he makes me uneasy.”

Nerdanel raised her eyebrows and nudged him slightly when he failed to elaborate further, “In what way?”

Fëanáro hesitated before answering.

“The way he looks at me, the way he's always trying to get me to notice him... I've seen many overachieving students—I was one!—but _this_ feels different for some reason. I don't know how to explain it," he admitted, looking at her almost sheepishly.

Nerdanel pondered on his words and scrunched up her nose.

“For Eru’s sake, Fëanáro, you should go to bed,” she said. “When was the last time you had a good night's sleep? Be both know it's your tired brain talking."

Fëanáro gave her a dubious, yet somewhat hopeful look.

"You think so?"

“I know so,” she stood up and pulled his sleeve. “Come on, I’ll make sure that you don’t take a wrong turn on your way to the bedroom. Think it over in the morning, once you can think straight again."

Fëanáro rose to his feet obediently and stretched, yawning.

“Perhaps you’re right,” he muttered. “Perhaps it’s no more than my imagination.”


	4. Curufin/Findis: the flower of discord

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some will call it OOC, I call it a background story.
> 
> I blame eccentricmya for this. Also, not beta-read.

No matter how many times Fëanáro stated that he loved all his sons—all his talented, precious, true-heirs-to-the-throne sons—equally, everyone with a pair of eyes and more than one braincell around them could see that he did have a favorite.

In fact, favoritism towards Fëanáro’s fifth son extended far beyond his immediate family. And, to be fair, that was not at all surprising: apart from inheriting all of his father’s looks and skills, Curufinwë also possessed his mother’s patience and perceptiveness, his grandfather’s charm and his grandmother’s cunning. By the time he stepped over the threshold of puberty he had the whole court of Finwë wrapped around his elegant, nimble finger.

Although, as is the case with all rules, this one had its exceptions.

* * *

Curufinwë lingered by a fountain, looking at his distorted reflection on the surface of the clear, cool water gathered in its bowl. He had to make sure his hair looked perfect and his crimson robe (the one that made him look so mature and stately) had not a single wrinkle on it before heading towards the arbor in the far end of the King’s garden.

There, gazing thoughtfully out at the flower-bed of petunias, sat King Finwë’s eldest daughter, so lovely with her long golden hair flowing down her honey-colored shoulders and back, and yet distant and cold, like the faraway lands on the other side of the sea. Curufinwë hovered about, admiring the view wistfully, until she looked up at him, quirking her perfect eyebrow at him elegantly.

“What do you want, Curufinwë?” there was a touch of weariness in her voice.

Curufinwë bowed his head in greeting and outstretched his hand. In his palm lay an elaborate brooch, an exact replica of one of the petunias in the garden set with dozens of tiny diamonds.

“I’ve made it as a Begetting Day gift for you, Lady Findis,” he said, “although I know it can hardly match your beauty.”

Findis stared at him, not taking the brooch.

“My Begetting Day was a month ago.”

Curufinwë’s cheeks turned slightly pink.

“It… took a lot of time,” he said. “I’ve worked hard and long to produce a gift that would truly please—”

“I appreciate the effort,” Findis replied indifferently, turning away, “but you shouldn’t have bothered. I hate petunias.”

Curufinwë blinked, taken aback.

“B-but,” he stuttered, “you spend so much time sitting here, admiring the flower-beds!”

“Not admiring,” Findis scrunched up her nose. “Thinking what flowers I’ll plant here once I’ve finally had this monstrosity dealt with,” she thought about it for a moment. “I’ve been asking the gardener to dig them out for months now, but she’s so busy now with all the restoration work happening in the eastern garden that she never has time to do it.”

Curufinwë retracted his hand slowly.

“I’m sorry for this mistake,” he said in a dull voice. “I’ll try to make up for it.”

* * *

The next morning, when Indis and Findis came to the arbor, hand in hand, there was not a trace of petunias left anywhere in the flower-beds.

“You’ve had them taken care of at last,” Indis cried in delight. “But how?”

“Oh,” Findis fidgeted with a lock of her hair absentmindedly, “I have my ways around this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, petunias symbolize "anger and resentment". Was I trying to be deep and foreshadowing here? Maybe I was. Maybe I wasn't. Who knows.


End file.
